Famous Last Words
by JisbonRock
Summary: Hotch is in deep trouble; he knows that he can't escape what he's done. But will Dr. Reid stay by his boss even if he has done something of unimaginable horror? Rated T for mild swearing, mentions of things paedophiles do. It's better than it sounds!
1. Chapter 1

"Hotch? You didn't do this, right? Hotch?" Spencer Reid's eyes bore into me. The interrogation room was badly lit, the dark one-sided mirror showing my reflection. A tired, dark-haired man stared at me, one I didn't recognise. The man had a cold streak clearly visible in his brown eyes. Eyes which were mine. I swivelled my cold, brown eyes to the man who sat opposite me. Reid; who was expecting me to answer his question.

"You want to know whether I killed him. Yes. Next question?" I spoke calmly, but inside I was shaking. Inside I was afraid. I had killed a man in cold-blood. Normal people don't have the urge to do that. Was the darkness I saw in my job pouring into my head, messing with me?

Reid had an unfamiliar expression on his face. Almost disappointment in me. Concern for my mental wellbeing was also there on his face. But Spencer Reid hates cold-blooded killers. He hates death. So I half-expected him to shout at me, show utter disgust for the man he looked up to. But the genius surprises me every time.

"I'm sorry for you, Hotch. I'm upset that you have gone down this path and I wish you hadn't. Please, Aaron," he used my first name for the first time. An interrogation technique? "Please tell me you didn't do this." He pleaded with me, abandoning all ideas of interrogation. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't. But I couldn't lie to him. He deserved more from me.

"I've told you, Spencer," I tested out saying his first name, realising how much it suited him. "I killed Geoffrey Walker. I killed the bastard and I'm not proud of it. I should die for what I've done. You should and probably do, hate me for the rest of my life. But I killed him. I've as good as left my innocent son without a father. Do you think I'm honestly proud of what I've done?"

My voice cracked, thinking of my beautiful son, how he would hate me when he was old enough to know what I did. I held in my bitter tears; completely breaking down in an interrogation is never a good idea.

Reid picked up my file, gave one final look at me and stormed out of the room, the door swinging behind him. I sighed. Now I had turned my world against me. For what?

Geoffrey Walker was a disgusting, small man of little intelligence. He barely washed; he had a shaving rash on his chin and stank of any revolting thing he had eaten the previous night. He never spoke; he leered or taunted. He looked every one of his fifty-seven years and more.

He was a stereotypical paedophile; he molested small children who did no wrong. He raped them, he touched them in ways seven or eight year olds should never be touched. When he wasn't doing this, he watched horrific child pornography on his computer, meticulously downloading the ones which really got his twisted mind going and putting them on discs.

This was his sad little life. Until he started killing his victims to shut them up. Then his already disturbed mind was filled with a lust to rape and kill small children. The small blonde boys were his favourite; they almost always screamed in a way that filled his sick little mind with desire.

His one bedroom flat was filled with body parts and lewd pictures of him doing repulsive things with his victims. He was madly happy and he thought he would never be found.

But the FBI found him. My team found him, naked, watching one of his discs, smoking weed. The mere sight of him repulsed me; as it did everyone.

When interrogated, he opened up to his crimes easily, proud to go into great detail of his crimes.

He just said it. As did I. He was a murderer; I am a murderer. Not much different.

I was as disgusting as he was.


	2. Chapter 2

I was still awaiting news of my fate. My guess was the death penalty. I refused to come to terms with it. That I was never going to walk into work again, never see my adorable son again.

They had let me see Jack once. He had been in tears; he had been told that his daddy had done a bad thing and Jack might not see him for a bit. I'd held him in my arms, his tears dampening my prison overalls.

"When will I see you again, Daddy?" He had asked me, his eyes red with tears.

"I'll see you soon, buddy. You're gonna have to stay with Auntie Jess for a bit and then we'll, see how it goes." I had answered, hiding my tear-stained face from him.

He had been led away by a prison tour guide. I sobbed for hours; I banged my head against the wall of my cell repeatedly, screaming for my son. I was going mad and I was to die a murderous madman.

A madman like Walker.

Geoffrey Walker wouldn't have been killed if he had stayed home. He had been let off by the Bureau; even though there was substantial evidence pointing towards him. I knew it was him and so did the rest of my team.

He had come to my house. It was nearly one in the morning and Jack had been asleep for hours. I hadn't slept and I had been watching a documentary about a new theory on the Jack the Ripper case.

When I opened the door to see his greasy, grisly form, I was filled with hate. He was a doorway and a flight of stairs away from my sleeping son. This repulsed me, among countless other things about him.

"What do you want?" I had asked him, glaring at him.

"You know it's me. Still I'm not arrested. Could it be more simple?" He leered at me.

This angered me deeply, more than it should've done.

"If had been up to me, you would be dead, your last memory one of pain and horror." I replied.

"The why isn't up to you? It's up to you now."

It still confuses me why he wanted me to try and kill him. Maybe he thought he would overpower me?

I dragged him by the collar along the road until we came to an abandoned alleyway.

"So what are you gonna do to me?" He taunted.

I didn't speak; I took out my gun and shot him three times in the chest. As he drew his last worthless breaths, I smashed his head in against the kerb. I fled the scene, knowing that I would be caught.

During a break time at the prison, I sat in the corner, remembering that night. Cops are treated like hell in jail and it was better to keep to myself.

Suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned slowly to see a small, revolting man looking at me from across the room. Little, watchful eyes. Grey and watery. The eyes of Geoffrey Walker.

I definitely was going mad.


End file.
